Corruption Racketeering Assualt Sex Heroin
by zzz1266
Summary: Dylan Garnier has joined the ranks of CRASH only to find that the name of the game is drugs he has to get out quick,expose Tenpenny and try not to be killed in the process... complete
1. Crash!

Disclamier: **Don't own anything apart from invented characters etc**

Dylan Garnier pulled up into the drive and turned the ignition off of his beat up Oceanic. He lay back in his seat, fanning himself with 'The Do's and Don't of C.R.A.S.H' . He closed his eyes, but the bloody image of the man his mentor shot earlier today was all he could see. Maybe this new venture wasn't the thing for him, C.R.A.S.H or 'Community Resources Against Street Hoodlums' sounded pretty appealing back in Liberty. 'Clean up the gritty East side, learn new skills in communication and negotiations, do your part for the Los Santos community' That's what it said in the brochure, but so far all his mentor had taught him was 'If any Mexican looks at you funny, shoot the motherfucker.' Officer Polaski' was pretty much the epitome of a racist, no problem for Dylan, being a Caucasian American. So Dylan left college and flew south, filled in an application and was now training to be part of the small team that made up the anti-gang unit. So far his stay hadn't been the best, it was to hot for a start, all the radio DJ's seemed mentally retarded apart from 'Julio G' who was encouraging exactly the thing Dylan was trying to oppose and no to mention his neighbours flat had recently been burgled.

'Hey holmes are you alright,' there was a tap on the window. Dylan opened his eyes to his, strong, fierce looking Hispanic neighbour, a friendly guy that went by the name Cesar Vialpando. He lived a few doors down, well lived probably wasn't the right word, he came and went, a brand new moded car in the drive every other week. Dylan was sure the guy slept with a gun under his pillow or a spanner, by the looks from some of his vehicles. Cesar knew Dylan was a cop in training, maybe rubbing shoulders with this guy would offer some advantage for his gang when they got in trouble. Dylan gave him the thumbs up and got out of the car. One of East Beach's finest sunsets, unfortunately tattered as cars sped down the freeway. The apartment he was renting out wasn't to bad, a 2 storey building, murky white, a few palm trees here and there. He was pretty lucky to be living here, he was originally going to buy a place in East Los Santos, but as he was about to strike the deal with the estate agent a round of bullets flew through the kitchen window, he didn't exactly want shrapnel in his soup. Though it would be a matter of weeks before he had to start house hunting again, he was renting this place from a couple who had gone on holiday. He entered the house and went straight for the bath room, and splashed some water on his sweaty face. He looked at his reflection in the full length mirror. He whistled, he didn't look half bad in the cop uniform. The dark blue highlighted his black mop-styled hair and lightly tanned skin. He was a pretty ordinary looking guy, he didn't give off a threatening vibe, or a 'don't mess with me or I'll shoot you up the ass' expression. Hazel eyes, even toned skin, your average Joe. He continued strutting around the mirror for a bit until his cell phone went off.

'Hey kid'

'Polaski?'

'Yep we got a bit of a disturbance down East Los Santos,' drawled the slimy voice of Eddie Polaski 'Those green vegetables think they have balls,' Dylan didn't know what to say to this.

'Uh-huh,' he ventured.

'Gawd kid don't sound so fricken surprised, we do get off our asses sometimes, well you will be, just go down there and calm it down.'

'Alone, sodding hell man I don't even have a gun!'

'Enough of that attitude, they'll be one lying around, you applied for the job, go do it you stupid wuss,' he cut off.

'Shit!' All Dylan was equipped with was some cuffs and pepper spray. He grabbed his keys and stormed out the door. He started the ignition, wondering what the hell he was going to do, he was about to drive off when he spotted Cesar washing his Lowrider. He rolled the window down.

'Hey Vialpando, you gotta piece?' Cesar gave him an unsure look, but disappeared into the house, and emerged holding a sawn off shotgun.

'Hey holmes, make sure you don't draw it on one of my own,' he laughed.

'No worries, I owe you,' he pushed down hard on the pedal and cut into the stream of cars. The sun had almost set, and Dylan was becoming increasingly nervous.

'Come on Dyl you can do it, you're the one with brains, there just whacked out assholes.' He said trying to convince himself that he had the advantage. He swerved round the corner and entered the seedy neighbourhood. He could hear the gunshots drumming in his ears, and skidded round another corner. He could see the disturbance, a gang of four green cladded men had pulled a gun on some poor guy who was now splattered across the pavement, well this poor guy was probably a drug dealer, this had lured some purple dressed yobs into the area. He recognised the purple as being the Front Yard Ballas, but the green he hadn't been told about, maybe they were some underdog gang trying to earn a street or two. As far as he could see only one of them had a small pistol and the other three were just wielding baseball bats, they were easily diminishing the oncoming Ballas that were making a half-assed effort to get rid of the new arrivals. The leader looked the real threat, green chonglers, some trashy Binco shirt. Dark skinned, black afro and shades. He was laughing as he shot down another, he had a well trained eye and an extremely menacing vibe. Dylan was about to get out of the car, when he realised he would probably get shot down as soon as he touched the ground, they wouldn't even give a second thought that he was a cop, a more subtle approach would be better. He reached to the back seat and grabbed around for his coat, then realised he had left at the apartment, it was way to hot to even bring one.

'Dam!' He ripped off his blue shirt and shoved his cuffs and pepper spray in his pockets. Would they suspect a guy in blue pants and a white shirt? He grabbed the shot gun and shoved it halfway down the back of his pants, hopefully to whip it out if things got a bit sticky. He got out the car and shut the door as quietly as he could.

'Yeah you the man CJ,' jeered one of the men.

'This is CJ fools bustin a cap in yo ass!' yelled the leader or 'CJ'

Dylan took the chance.

'Hey I gotta' message for ya,' yelled Dylan hoping for the best. Instantly a gun was pulled on him.

'Hey hey don't shoot the messenger,' he put his hands up, if they didn't buy this he was screwed. He cautiously moved towards them, and could see the leader slowly lowering his gun.

'What kinda message,'? said one of them, who was raising his crow bar.

'Your hood, it's in trouble, I had to run all the way,' he said faking a stitch, his hand was able to edge towards the butt of the shotgun.

'And what hood would that be?' said one of the wiser ones. Crap. He looked around for a clue, gang members usually showed there dedication by having a tattoo stating there gang plastered on his back or chest. And there it was, in black ink, on the leaders left bicep.

'Groove street yeah, some guy just came up to me and said 'run to East Los Santos and warn CJ, the hoods in trouble', he then pulled a nine on me, so I ran all the way from…' he paused. He recalled some men walking down with green bandanas in, what was the place? He was passing the 10 green bottles when he saw them.

'Ganton,' Dylan held his breath.

'Grove Street you ass,' The leader turned his back on Dylan.

'Come on homies lets get back,' this was his chance. He pulled the gun from his pants and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

'What the fuck!' He yelled as Dylan pushed the gun into the guys temple. He leapt back a few steps dragging his hostage with him. Several gang members raised there guard and attempted to smash Dylan's head, but thought better of it. He squirmed in Dylan's grip and swore continuously.

'You stupid motherfucker get the hell off me or I'll blast your foot off,' he cried

'Not before I blow you brains out you street trash,' replied Dylan.

'Do you know who I am!'

'Who are you then?'

'Carl Johnson, remember that, cos that's the last name your gonna' here in your sorry ass life,' Carl yelled, becoming more furious and dangerous by the second.

'Ok Mr Johnson this is how where going to do it, you give me the gun, and then I'm going to arrest you, if you try any smart moves I'll kill you, without a second thought, O.K?' said Dylan smoothly.

'Yeah right, in your dreams pretty boy,' Dylan pushed the gun harder into his head.

'O.K, O.K, O.K, here,' he pushed the pistol into Dylan's hands. Suddenly two police cars swerved round the corner, making Dylan relaxing his grip.

'NOW!' yelled Carl. He spun round and kneed Dylan in the groin, he accidentally pulled the trigger in a fit of panic making a bullet skim the side of his shoe, Dylan scrunched up and fell to the floor, and received another kick.

'Oh crap…' he groaned, he was done for. He heard gunshots and opened his eyes, Carl Johnson was speeding off on a BMX, leaving his gang to be ripped to shreds. One fell to the floor, another then another. Then he heard the smooth, slick voice of Officer Tenpenny.

'Mr Garnier what the hell are you doing down there?


	2. The do's and don'ts

Dylan watched woefully as his Oceanic was towed away, what was most annoying was the fact that Pulaski could plant carefully aimed shots in to a running man's legs but somehow manage to shoot out Dylan's tyres in the process. He was sitting in the front seat of Tenpenny's pricey but suave Buccaneer, watching, with a hint of glee as the commanding officer was taking part in a fairly heated argument with Pulaski, well Tenpenny was shouting and Pulaski was cowering. Even if Dylan had screwed his first day up, the twisted leather on his left shoe a grim reminder of this, at least he didn't lick Tenpenny's ass for a living. Dylan sat up straight as Tenpenny left an extremely pissed off looking Pulaski and entered the car. He was tall, dark skinned and well built, sharp features and a cat like smile gave him the air of authority.

'Sorry you had to go through that Dylan, Pulaski was supposed to get Adrian on to it,' said Tenpenny a curved smile lined his features and a little less formality crept into his voice, 'but truth be told, you did pretty damn good,' Dylan breathed a sign of relief, he was afraid it would have been over before it had begun. Tenpenny lowered his voice a little 'I think Officer Pulaski is afraid of being outclassed,' he winked and continued smiling. That seemed hardly a reason for Dylan to be sent out and almost and ripped to pieces, he glanced over to the wounded men who were being slowly carted into an ambulance, their faces stricken with pain, though Dylan did not let himself feel any sympathy for them, as far a he was concerned they were making his job unnecessarily harder.

'So are we going to arrest those guys?' asked Dylan curiously, Tenpenny simply shook his head and laughed.

'Oh no no no, that's to trivial for us…' he sighed. 'You see Dylan, the brochure that brought you here, it was a bit dressed up,' he paused and started the ignition, '_Clear up the streets and do you part from the community_,' rang Tenpenny in a sing song voice, reciting from the leaflet that Dylan had read only a few weeks ago. 'That's what your average blue collars are for, were investigators Dylan, we may not act like it but we are, we deal in in narcotics, nasty, gritty drugs,' he said slowly, emphasising each word. They swerved violently round a corner and passed through Idlewood.

'So why'd we pick you? You might have met Juan Hernandez, we only brought him in a few weeks ago, but he's not really the right material, to bogged down with all the text book crap,' said Tenpenny snidely.

'So why have you got him?'

'He's damn intelligent, maybe even for his own good…' Tenpenny trailed off. 'There's a different set of rules on the streets, you had the right attitude and today proved it, also during training you were damn impressive as well ,' Dylan recalled the 2 months of tedious, exhausting mental and physical tests though now he was glad he stuck it out. 50 hours of academics, 20 hours of driving, 100 hours of firearms training, 20 hours of human relations, 100 hours of physical training and last of all 20 hours of techniques and procedures. They reached a traffic light and Tenpenny rummaged around in his pocket, and produced a gold badge, circular with an eagle protruding from the top, and on a blue background the words 'US AGENT'. 'Number 1,' began Tenpenny, 'keep that safe, sometimes you'll need it, sometimes its worth keeping it firmly hidden away,' he handed it to Dylan who thrust it into his pocket, puzzled why he had to conceal it. 'Number 2,' Tenpenny paused and reached over to the glove box and pulled out a jet black, smooth pistol and passed it over. 'Have at least one of these on you at all times'

'Glock 29,' muttered Dylan. The light flashed green and Tenpenny took a right and stopped about 100 yards from an overhanging bridge, they were at the mouth of a small cul-de-sac, and Dylan could see why Tenpenny had stopped. The green clad men that Dylan had encountered the previous day were littering the pavement in small compact groups, some were washing their cars, or just simply admiring. Others were chatting as beer slopped from their bottles and they lazily flicked cigarette butts into the road, luckily they weren't paying any attention to the car parked up the street.

'And Number three…can you tell me this one Dylan?' said Tenpenny questioningly. Dylan took a hazardous guess.

'Don't enter a gang neighbourhood…alone?'

'Spot on Mr Garnier, you decide that you have big enough balls, you could get yourself killed…or even worse. They don't take kindly to newcomers, especially this lot, its locals and locals only.' he finished, shifting the handbrake and making a sharp U-turn, they took off again, but at a much slower pace.

'How much did Pulaski tell you this morning about all our delightful residents,' said Tenpenny, Dylan getting the gist of what he was implying, and answered back simply.

'Bits, not much,' said Dylan, Tenpenny nodded slowly, and yawned.

'Well, you've probably heard this before, but you gotta' know your enemy, so lets start at the bottom,' he said, his hands gestured to the street around him. 'Ganton, Grove Street Families HQ, once upon a time these greens used to be the most tough and respected gang in Los Santos, but over the last few years they've declined to practically nothing, though there starting to pick up again due to a certain somebody…' Tenpenny paused and gave a slight gleeful smile, 'and have the potential to be as dangerous as hell,' finished Tenpenny grimly.

'Carl Johnson?' said Dylan quickly, Tenpenny turned to face him and raised an eyebrow.

'You know our Carl then?' said Tenpenny smoothly. Dylan had told Tenpenny about his brief encounter, but the name had slipped his mind completely.

'He was the guy who sped off on the BMX,' he said, Tenpenny's eyebrows creased.

'Don't worry about him,' said Tenpenny hurriedly.

'But-' Dylan began, but Tenpenny cut him off, Dylan was sure purposely.

'Anyway, there are two branches of the Grove Street families, The Orange Groves and The Seville Boulevard families. The Groves are relatively clean, but someone has been running drugs through to the Sevilles for a while now, were not sure who, but I'll tell you about that later.' They left Ganton and passed a Well Stacked Pizza Co. The sun was beginning to set, and the night life was beginning to rise, Dylan eyed a couple of purple Ballas leaning against a dumpster, jeering and whistling at a scantily clad woman who stalked the pavement confidently. Tenpenny watched him.

'Front Yard Ballas, Los Santos' most notorious drug dealers. Prostitution, arms dealings, vandalism, you name it.' Tenpenny then seemed to put a bit more forcefulness into his voice, 'They slip through our fingers every time, stupid bastards… ,' he frowned, it was odd, Tenpenny wasn't the kind of man to admit defeat, thought Dylan not to mention his tone sounded somehow…false. Dylan quickly pushed the thought to the back of his mind as Tenpenny began to talk again.

'But the Ballas aren't going to be on your line of work for a while,' said Tenpenny noticing Dylan's suspicious face. 'We have them covered,' he said reassuringly. Dylan looked in the rear view mirror as the hooker walked away with a man dressed in a purple chequered shirt and grey trousers. Tenpenny accelerated and Dylan watched the urban town blur past him, they headed north, and neither talked for a while to lost in their own thoughts. The car ascended up a slope and Tenpenny cleared his throat.

'Now to visit our Hispanic neighbours…' said Tenpenny as they reached the flat road, the area was more a less the same as everywhere else, white bricked houses, palm trees hovering around, kids kicking soccer balls, though instead of purple or green, yellow was the domineering influence in the neighbourhood.

'Las Colinas, one of the many homes of the Los Santos Vagos, second to the Ballas, but just as ruthless,' said Tenpenny. Dylan's eyes surveyed the area, and saw two Vagos members, both topless and sporting yellow head bands, they seemed to be cornering a hooded man, who was waving his hands about frantically.

'Hey Officer, look?' Said Dylan pointing to the three. Tenpenny just blinked and looked at Dylan. 'Shouldn't we…y'know,' Dylan stopped, looking at Tenpenny for a sign of understanding.

'No,' he said stoutly.

'But-'

'Look at that guy Dylan… hooded, baggy trousers, shoes to big for his feet, did they teach you anything at the place?' he said, quite seriously. Dylan faltered, the guy was clearly a drug dealer. 'Never mind.' Tenpenny quickly shunned the subject away. 'Another Hispanic gang that is on the rise is the Varios Aztecas, people say that they were never really a proper gang, but there heavily involved in gun running and street violence, their supposed to be anti-narcotics, but everyone knows that after promoting this image they go looking for a fix,' said Tenpenny smiling once again.

'Were planning to get a small team onto the Aztecas, to hopefully to get some leads on were there getting their cargo from, and hopefully…' he paused his eyes glinting, 'If your ready, you'll be leading that team.' Dylan felt uplifted, the thought that he would be doing something really worthwhile was encouraging, and suddenly decided that the day hadn't gone so badly at all. Tenpenny looked at him knowingly.

'But first, I'm going to assign you your first…objective ,' said Tenpenny, pausing to find the right word. 'You know I told you about the Seville Boulevard Families and the drug running?' Dylan nodded, it seemed ages ago when Tenpenny had introduced him to Grove Street.

'Well, I want you to head down to Playa Del Seville, were the Seville's reside and try and get a name, I don't care how you do it, but it's important,' said Tenpenny forcefully, his tone quite sinister.

'Yeah, of course,' Dylan eagerly said, he had had lessons on undercover work, and ideas were already flooding his mind. He had barely noticed that they had approached East Beach and Tepenny was pulling up on the pavement to Dylan's apartment.

'Hey Dylan, you smoke?' called Tenpenny, as Dylan got out of the car.

'No, my Dad did, and he's 10 foot below the ground,' said Dylan casually. Tenpenny rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a pack of Redwoods.

'Well, you better start tomorrow.' He threw them to Dylan, and he pocketed them, doubting he would use them, but if they made him seem more genuine, what the hell. Dylan unlocked the door and saw out of the corner of his eye, Cesar peering out the window, watching Tenpenny speed of into the distance.


	3. You got some white?

Dylan drummed his fingers aggravatingly on the steering wheel and glanced at his watch, he had been in the same spot for an hour staring at the group of three on the pavement opposite him. All dark skinned and dressed in various green attire, they were the same as every Seville that lined the street, but this small huddle caused Dylan the most interest. A tall guy, seemingly on the verge of adulthood, dressed in a green do' rag, topless with a bulging gut hanging over olive cargo pants, was happily talking with his comrades. Though the anxious glances over the shoulder, and casual but nervous darting looks at his watch made him stick out as a weak link. After spotting this pattern of suspicious behaviour, Dylan had sat in the stifling heat dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized hoody, hoping to try and pull off a desperate druggie act, not the most smoothest or intelligent plan but had a fair chance of working, especially on a young, nervous novice. Dylan sat straighter as the group dispersed leaving the young man on his own and restlessly waiting. Then it happened, the lightening quick interchange, which Dylan had seen so many times before. Another man approached him, bare chested with blue jeans. To an ordinary eye, it would appear that the two were just exchanging a handshake, but Dylan knew that a small bag had disappeared from the Seville's hand, and several scrunched 20 dollar bills thrusted back. As the buyer disappeared around the corner, Dylan shoved a baseball cap on and pulled his hood over his head, then hastily got out the car and walked across the road, towards the departing man.

'Hey,' said Dylan cautiously, the man seemed on the verge of running the hell away, but slowly turned to face Dylan. His brown eyes surveyed him with obvious suspicion, and Dylan quickly inspected him back with equal concern. _No weapon, overweight… _thought Dylan subconsciously, stepping closer to the man, and talking out the corner of his mouth.

'You got some… uhh…' Dylan coughed. 'White.' The man looked mildly surprised, stopping only for a moment.

'Nope,' he said simply. Dylan smiled slowly.

'How come I saw you with some a second ago then?' The Seville faltered, suddenly the previous nervousness flooded his body again.

'Well…I ran out didn't I?' he stuttered, not sure how to handle the sudden arrival. Dylan wiped the smile off his face, ran his hand through his black hair edgily and sniffed.

'Well you gotta tell me where you get it from don't you then…' he lowered his tone. 'Cos' I really…really need some,' said Dylan adding a twinge of desperation in his voice. The man suddenly regained his composure sensing Dylan's anguish.

'And why in the fuck would I tell you?'

'Well you see…' Dylan pulled his shirt up a little, revealing a black handle against white flesh. The guy seemed to cower slightly, and his eyes flickered from the gun to Dylan's serious face. He drew a deep breath and was about to yell, but Dylan expected this action from a man like him and instantly threw his hand to his throat. He spluttered, and tried to make some sort of alerting sound, but knew from Dylan's pincer-like grip that he meant business.

'O…k,' he gasped, Dylan released his grip instantly, he didn't enjoy this part. 'B-Dup…but that's all your getting…. you… you motherfucker…I swear your dead,' he wheezed through huge gulps of air, but Dylan was already on the other side of the road. Yeah, it was dirty, and he was damn lucky that the guy was so faint hearted and gutless, if he was the other brand, Dylan would probably be dead on the pavement at this very movement, but he had picked him out carefully, and taken the right steps.

'B-Dup yeah we've been suspecting that sonava bitch for a while now, well he lives down in Ganton, get down there, park by the blue apartments and we'll be down in about a half hour,' said Tenpenny angrily in one breath, instantly hanging up before Dylan could even begin to reply. He looked at his watch, it had just gone twelve. Ripping off the grey hoody he turned the key and headed north.

Ten minutes later, Dylan once again found himself sitting uncomfortably in his car, watching a set of blue apartments each bordered with a white picket fence. 5 minutes later, Dylan couldn't take anymore of the intense afternoon heat, he met the slightly cooler oven-like air, walking along the stone path that separated the set of apartments, it wouldn't hurt him poking about a bit. Kicking a dusty stone, he surveyed the blue buildings, it was quite a pretty place, he continued wondering how it could harbour a narcotics dealer. A voice sounded from behind him.

'Stay the fuck away punk!'

Instinctively, Dylan crouched and took cover behind a small bush, brushing away one of the branches, he could make out three figures. One was average height, wearing a green sweater and dark blue jeans, sporting some kind of bobble hat. He were standing behind a familiar face, Dylan instantly recognised the cornrow cut and dark shades. Carl Johnson.

'Hey, fuck you,' he yelled, looking as if he was about to take a swing at the tall man in front of them dressed in a big blue overcoat and was turning away back inside the building.

'Damn, this shits fucked up,' sighed the bobble hat, both turning away into the opposite direction. Dylan watched as Carl stopped abruptly, he seemed to be gazing curiously at Dylan's Oceanic.

'What the hell you doin' CJ? hurry the fuck up.'

'Yeah yeah, I'm comin, I'm comin''

The two disappeared from view and Dylan appeared from his hiding place to be greeted by the oncoming police car, he hurried over to where Tenpenny and Pulaski were slamming the car doors.

'Good afternoon Dylan,' said Tenpenny cheerily, Pulaski just nodded and sneered at Dylan's rugged appearance.

'I think it's this one,' said Dylan pointing to the brown peeling door, where the scene he had just encountered had taken place.

Tenpenny nodded automatically reaching for the handle, they disappeared through the doorway and entered a grotty hall, with equally grubby green doors lining the walls. They reached the end of the hall, with no consultation he knocked on the door.

'Who is it,' called a hoarse voice.

'It's us Mr. Wayne,' replied Tenpenny happily. There was an instant sound of footsteps, and the door opened, revealing the man Dylan had seen moments before, the huge overcoat had dissapered, well everything had dissapered, he was standing in a pair of black boxers, looking worried but mostly mildly irritated by Tenpenny's appearance. Pulaski sniggered and Tenpenny's mouth curved into a smile. Surprisingly B-Dup just stood aside and reluctantly let them through, a woman appeared behind him, clutching a sheet, unfazed by the uniformed men. Tenpenny put up a hand.

'Were going to need you to stay here Dylan, we don't want any visitors.' Dylan nodded as Pulaski passed him, lazily shooting him a smug look. Tenpenny swung the door behind them, but the hinges creaked, and the door slammed shut.

'Now then Mark.' Dylan heard Tenpenny say very quietly through the weak wooden door, maybe it was the fact that Tenpenny seemed to know this guy to well, or that his voice had dropped just beyond Dylan's hearing range, or even the lack of weapons or a pair of simple handcuffs, that made Dylan intent of eavesdropping. He pressed his ear lightly on the cold wood, the voices were muffled, but Dylan could hear bits of what they were saying, especially when the loud, not so slick Pulaski butted in.

'I thought we had an agreement on-' The rest of the sentence was lost through the wood, though a pleading voice could be heard over the slow footsteps.

'Yeah yeah officer I know but…' A distinct click sounded.

'Only selling it…Ballas…wondering,' the snide loud voice of Pulaski sounded through the wood, another voice, desperate and shaking.

'No…guys…'

A huge bang followed by an earsplitting scream , made Dylan jump back from the door, his ears ringing, he was pushed against the wall as the huge mass that was Pulaski tore past him.

'Ok kid were done here,' he said calmly. As Dylan was ushered out of the doorway he saw the crumpled form of Mark Wayne still in his boxers, clutching his leg that was spewing dark, red blood.

'What the…' whispered Dylan as he was shoved through the doorway. He heard Tenpenny's smooth voice in his ear.

'He got violent, he was unsafe.'

'Why the fuck aren't you arresting him!' cried Dylan, confused and feeling slightly dazed from the arrival of hot sun that was beating down intensely on the back of his neck.

'Not to day kid,' said Pulaski, veering him quickly from the apartments by his shoulder.

'Don't worry Dylan, we'll call you tomorrow morning, fill you in on the details,' said Tenpenny calmly, reassuringly, a casual tone that seemed to douse the moral battle in his head a little bit. Pulaski and Tenpenny turned to the police car, turning back only to say:

'Oh, by the way, good job Dylan, you put a little more justice into the streets,' smiled Tenpenny ducking into the black and white car. Dylan simply stared at them, all the way until they disappeared round the corner. He pulled and flipped his cell phone out, his fingers about to punch in 911, but an ambulance had already veered round the corner, he remembered the woman in the apartment, she must have got a surprise…

Dylan, rushed into his car as the ambulance drew near, his tyres screeched as he reversed out of the emergency vehicles path, turning the steering wheel almost 180 degrees, he swerved into the street, praying the medics in the ambulance hadn't spotted him.


	4. Ballas, Deals and Tenpenny

**A/N Thanks to reviewers! Qwerty: Katie Zhang? Lol sure… I think I could put her in the next chapter, if not the next another.**

Dylan quickly ran up the steps leading to the huge, grey building that was LSPD Headquarters. .He had still been fast asleep 20 minutes ago, trying to recover from the night before, where instead of sleeping he had tried to get his head around what he had seen the previous day. He was sure there was a completely reasonable explanation to why Tenpenny was discussing agreements and Ballas with a drug dealer, he now hoped that he would be told it. He had woken to the angry voice of Pulaski down the phone, threatening that he would be fired if he didn't get his ass down there in five minutes. He jumped over the last step and entered the dull building. A wave of coffee mixed with stale sweat doused Dylan's senses, and he found himself breathing through his mouth. Headquarters was a fairly busy place, the ground and first floor were full of long corridors and cramped offices, men and woman carrying various papers, evidence or prisoners. The basement had about 20 jail cells, brimming with wrong-doers, but it was expected, considering Los Santos' horrific crime rate.

Dylan spotted Pulaski lazily waving him over, standing alone, and drinking a cup of coffee.

'Hey kid, we just need you to sign something, saying that the guys we blasted the other day are fully gang-related, Jimbo should be in there.' He pointed to a wooden door on his left, 'I'd show you around but I got business to take care of,' he said turning around and down a corridor. More like you have Tenpenny's business to take care of thought Dylan, though he was grateful that Pulaski's previous threat was empty. He made his way into the office to find a skinny man, dressed in a cop's uniform pouring over a couple of brown cased folders. Dylan cleared his throat, the man jumped and scrambled the papers back into the files, he looked up, his features tense, but they relaxed when he saw Dylan. He had a buzz cut and a small moustache, Hispanic, like Cesar but his body was gaunt and gawky. He stepped towards him, and outstretched a skinny hand.

'I'm Juan Hernandez, you must be Garnier, yeah?' His accent was quite light but clearly Mexican, he shook his cold sweaty hand.

'Dylan…Garnier,' he replied, 'so I just have to sign the papers?'

'Yeah yeah, there on the desk, I'll see you, I have to go do something…' he trailed off, leaving the room. Dylan sat down in the small, squatty office and surveyed the paper. There was a little more than just a dotted line to sign.

'Ok…date and time of incident,' muttered Dylan. He continued for about five minutes, but he was never one for writing, his mind began to wonder looking for anything that might distract him. Broken pens, pencils, even a playboy under a couple of papers. Dylan's hand hovered for a second, but he was distracted by something.

**NAME:** _Beverly Johnson_ **DATE OF DEATH**: _10/1/92_

Johnson, a name he was told to remember, he held it up and read the rest of the report.

_Shot in the doorway of her home in the Ganton cul-de-sac in a gang related incident, involving the 'Front Yard Ballas' situated in Idlewood. Witnesses report four individuals in a Green Sabre fired out of a car using sub machine guns at the surrounding area. Individuals claim that 'Sean Johnson' the victims son, was the intended target. Bryan Johnson, brother of Sean, was murdered 5 years ago, circumstances are unclear. Carl Johnson is out of state and is currently residing in Liberty City. Both Johnson brothers are being closely monitored by C.R.A.S.H _

Dylan read with great interest, the death of his mother must have persuaded him to return, perhaps the death of this brother made him leave in the first place? The murder was a week ago according to the report. Dylan slid the sheet into a file, and then recalled Hernandez reading the files intensely. What did he want with them? After reflecting on this, he finished all he was required to write and went in search for Pulaski and Tenpenny.

He didn't have to look far they were in the main foyer discussing something, looking very serious. Tenpenny spotted Dylan and walked over to him.

'Hey Dylan, sleep well I hope?' Dylan smiled, a stint of embarrassment creeping back.

'Good, because it going to be a late one tonight,' he lowered his voice, 'You see we've received a tip off, that a number of Vagos are seeing a shipment of Cocaine off to San Fierro, of course this is right in our line of business, so Ocean Docks at midnight O.K?' Tenpenny said, looking sternly into Dylan's eyes.

'Yeah, fine…Sir, you know yesterday?' asked Dylan, this was the only opportunity to get his head clear, but Tenpenny patted him on the shoulder.

'Good man,' he said, turning around and hurrying away.

Dylan watched him go, and frowned, he was obviously hiding something.

He made it back to the apartment at 11:30 with 11 and a half hours to kill, five minutes of that talking to Cesar. He was washing his red Lowrider lovingly, Dylan didn't know why Cesar took such an interest in him, street thugs and cops don't mix, unless there's a hidden agenda involved.

'Hey homes,' he said, dragging his eyes away from his car. Dylan nodded, the experiences today taught him that beefy men, with tattoos branded across their body and shotguns in their houses, should be handled with caution. Cesar looked at Dylan's Oceanic thoughtfully.

'You know, I have some sweet spoilers available…they'll look good on your Oceanic.' There it was, hidden agenda number one.

'My Oceanic is heading for the scrap heap, and frankly my salary wouldn't cover it,' said Dylan moodily, still hot headed from his conversation with Tenpenny. Cesar frowned, giving the bonnet another wipe with a yellow chamois.

'Why are you a cop anyway?' he said flippantly still, gazing down at the car. Dylan didn't respond, but waited for Cesar to continue.

'I mean Tenpenny, he's as crooked as a _traficante_, ' he said casually, he had Dylan's attention now, he couldn't help himself. 'There's a rumour that he's been dealing with Ballas, plays people along and shit,' he said, as if trying Dylan's silence. Dylan was tempted to pull his gun on Cesar, a huge rush of anger had smothered his feelings, brought on by Cesar's casual accusations and disregard of who had the authority between them, but most of all the fact that all this might be true.

'Whatever man,' he said bitterly, heading for the front door of the apartment. 'How the fuck would you know anyway?' Not expecting an answer he violently slammed the door shut.

'_Idiota_,' muttered Cesar under his breath.

Cesar's pristine car had disappeared when Dylan returned from his jog at 11:30, running had always helped him clear his head, and tonight was no exception. He changed into his uniform, double checked he had everything, and set off for Ocean docks, it was a cool, breezy night, the kind of climate that Dylan knew and liked.

Ten minutes later, he crossed the bridge to the small island-like land that was Ocean Docks, slowing down he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Tenpenny and trouble, it was eerily quiet compared to the usual hustle and bustle during the day. Dylan checked his watch, it was approaching midnight, he was right on time. Straining his eyes, he tried to look more closely between the crates and tankers that littered the pavements and seemed to take up every available place. Realising that San Fierro was to the west, he decided to take the left turning available, and was finally successful in doing so.

He could see the familiar black and white car illuminated under the orange street light, and the figures of Tenpenny, Pulaski, and his new colleague Hernandez, he rolled up beside them, and Tenpenny clasped his hands together.

'Nice of you to join us, Dylan,' he said, beaming. Pulaski nodded grudgingly and Hernandez smiled nervously.

'So what are we doing this morning then?' said Dylan, eager to start. Pulaski nodded to Tenpenny who nodded back, beckoned to Dylan and the three disappeared through a gap between the tankers. He followed, as they carefully winded through the puzzle of crates, and a very short while later they came to a ladder that had been purposely planted for the four to climb up two yellow crates. Dylan glanced around, and followed Hernandez up. When he reached the top, Dylan's eyes widened. They were over looking a small clearing where all metal containers ceased to exist, a few barrels and wooden boxes were scattered along the ground. The Vagos had chosen the perfect secluded spot, which was cut off from the rest of Ocean Docks, not only by the crates but from the rippling sea as well.

'Get on your front!' whispered Pulaski, Dylan realised that he was exposed to the five Vagos that were guarding a small white boat which was slowly being loaded, by three other yellow clad men, with ammunition of sorts but the most valued, drugs.

'There's four of us and seven of them,' Tenpenny began, 'though were cops, if they take any notice of that, well… that's another story,' he continued, We'll approach from four directions, Eddie from the top most corner, Juan from the opposite corner, and me and Dylan will take them on from here,' he pointed to about 5 metres on his left, '…and you can hold this position,' pointing below. Without saying a word, Pulaski slid down the ladder and the three followed. Once there were on the ground, Pulaski appeared with several packages, and chucked one to each person. Dylan was the last to receive this and realised that it was black body armour. Pulaski turned disappeared again this time producing four sawn off shotguns.

'You have 2 minutes to get into position, when you hear one gunshot, that's your alarm, you know the drill,' said Pulaski quickly and surprisingly professionally. They went their separate ways, leaving Dylan standing alone, and waiting nervously for the signal. He crouched low, and shuffled through the gaps, until he had a clear view of scene. He was only 15 meters away, from the small bunch that were on look out, each brandishing small pistols and one a Sub machine gun. Making sure his vest was secure and had a firm grip on his shotgun, he waited.

It must have been five minutes later when the huge blast sounded, Dylan somehow was not prepared for it. His sweaty hands gripped the gun tighter, and he leapt out of his hiding place, hearing shouts of.

'Freeze!' and 'Put your hands up!' Dylan decided to follow this fashion.

'Put your guns down!' he yelled, not sure how much good it would do. All the Vagos froze with surprise and amazement, the three that were loading the boxes onto the small boat by way of a wooden plank dropped the current load they were carrying and put their hands up.

'Hace algo!' One yelled desperately.

'Shut up, or you're dead!' Screeched Pulaski, slowly taking steps to the five, who were still holding their weapons, but slowly lowering them, caught midway between opening fire or surrendering. However the one flaunting the sub machine gun, defiantly held his up, and pulled the trigger. Dylan felt the immense blow delivered into his vest, and lurched back into a crate, he slid to the floor expecting searing pain in his gut, but the armour had held. If anymore bullets had spewed from the barrel, Dylan would be dead. Though fortunately Tenpenny was on the ball, and silenced him with a bullet in the leg.

'Cabron!' shouted another at the fallen man, dropping his baseball bat, the others followed this fashion gradually dropping their pistols. While Pulaski and Hernandez kicked them aside and began to handcuff them, Tenpenny went to Dylan's side and helped him up.

'Are you alright Dylan?' he said, genuinely concerned, for which Dylan was grateful for.

'Yeah, just a bit winded,' he responded, looking at the bullet wedged in the material.

'Good man, go and cuff those three on the boat,' he said and turned to join Pulaski and Hernandez, Dylan unsteadily walked to the boat, a bit taken aback by the recent shooting. The three Vagos on the boat were standing stock still, stunned by the events, but still looking extremely pissed off.

'O.k,' he said to the first, 'put your hands behind your back.' He abided, but stopping to spit on Dylan's shoe and shoot him a filthy glare, Dylan resisted the urge to kick him. He pulled out his PlastiCuffs and bound them one by one, taking care to tighten them a little more than necessary. Once he had finished, he directed them off the boat and to his surprise Tenpenny ordered him to go home.

'Well done Dylan, you did damn good tonight, go home and that's an order, we'll get Adrian and his team to get these guys in a cell,' he said, Dylan nodded and said goodbye to Pulaski and Hernandez, who merely grunted in reply. He headed back the way the way they came, recalling the series of turns, though this time he couldn't resist taking a leak. He was next to the container they had been perched on top of, while he was relieving himself, he heard voices not of Tenpenny, Pulaski, Hernandez or Hispanic, unfamiliar thick Los Santos voices. Already suspicious of Tenpenny's dealings, he crept closer to the clearing and with his back against a crate peered around the corner.

There was Tenpenny and Pulaski, Hernandez had disappeared from view, speaking with a man dressed in baggy jeans and a chequered shirt, a purple chequered shirt. Though this time, Dylan could hear what was being said.

'Oh they is gonna love this in Fierro,' said the Balla gleefully. 'I reckon were gonna get a couple of thousands,' he said, rubbing his hands together. Tenpenny smiled.

'50 percent of that is ours.' The balla's face creased and he frowned.

'No no no Frank, 35 percent.' Tenpenny raised his shotgun very slightly.

'Who got rid of the Vagos, who got the location?' butted in Pulaski.

'Now now Eddie, we'll do 35…' said Tenpenny calmly.

Dylan didn't hear the rest, he didn't want to hear the rest…he had heard enough. Stripping off the vest and dropping the shotgun, he broke into a fast run, and weaved through path, back to his car.

He woke with a start, the phone on the wall ringing persistently, instantly the events of last night rushed back into his mind, and the questions flooded past as well, Dylan desperately wished that there was a good explanation, but it seemed doubtful. Realising that the phone wasn't going to give up, he reluctantly left his bed and picked up, surprisingly it was not the coarse voice of Eddie Pulaski.

'Hey homes'

'Cesar, what the hell?'

'No time Dylan, just get down to Seville, next to the line of garages, I'm down an alley way, you gotta see this,' he said quickly, and hung up. Dylan's mind struck limbo, did he have any choice? Crooked cops on one hand, and street thugs on the other. Dylan found himself driving in the direction of Seville, regretting it instantly. He had more or less offended Cesar yesterday and was probably walking into a trap which involved several angry friends and golf clubs. Turning into Seville he automatically knew where to go, considering he had spent most of yesterday there, he took a sharp left into a small alleyway barely big enough for his car then right again and there was Cesar's Lowrider. Dylan got out nervously, he could make out the silhouette of another in the passenger seat, so taking a deep breath he pulled the lever and got in.

'Ah Dylan you made it, this is Carl or CJ,' he said gesturing to the passenger; Dylan's heart skipped a beat. _Oh crap_ And there he was, the fierce face of Carl Johnson, his eyes just slowly gazed at Dylan and then he realised.

'It's you, the stupid dickhead who tried to arrest me, oh I'm gonna rip your head off fool!' he said angrily, about to get out of the car. Cesar's face broke into a smile for a second but he grasped Carl's shoulder.

'Hey hey CJ, look you don't want another bent pig on your ass do you?' Carl opened his mouth to retort, but he understood.

'No man, but why the fuck are you mixing with the bacon?'

'Look, I'll explain everything later,' he said, irritated. Carl sat huffily, like a child that had been refused chocolate. Dylan had remained silent, not wanting to encourage CJ's threats.

'So you dragged me way across town to see... what?' he said aggressively

Just in time, ese, take a good hard look over there'

'So, some Ballas hanging around a dope spot, so what?' Directly ahead of them, there was a courtyard with garages on either side, where indeed a group of three just standing and doing what Ballas do.

'Just watch, homes,' he whispered, leaning over the steering wheel and watching intently at the scene, while Dylan and CJ just stared lazily. Then suddenly two men, one was the guy that he had seen yesterday at B-Dup's apartment, the other sporting a worn bowler hat, and a large stomach. Dylan sat a little straighter, it was taboo to see a mix of green and purple together, without the influence of guns.

'What the fuck? Oh, no! Shit, Smoke, what you into?' cried Carl, it must have been one of his trusted 'homies'. And then this time, Dylan saw something that stunned him. There was Frank Tenpenny appearing from inside a garage, beckoning something towards him. A Green Sabre.

'Oh…shit' gasped Dylan.

'Shut up! That's the mother-fucking Green Sabre' yelled an angry and frustrated Carl. Cesar began explaining to Dylan, what the significance of the green car was, but Dylan had read it in the report and he barely noticed Cesar's explanation, it was a tiny ripple on a huge surface.

'Why the hell did you show me Cesar? Why the fuck do you care?' said Dylan slowly. Cesar's mouth shut and he frowned.

'Look homes, do you think I want another stupid-ass cop on my back helping the Ballas in their control over Los Santos? Tenpenny is already breathing down my neck, claming that the Azteca's are running drugs, it ain't about you homes,' he fumed, staring icily at Dylan. He turned back to CJ 'What you thinking?'

'It's Sweet, I think him and the homies is walking into a trap. Just go, GO!' he yelled leaping out the car, Cesar turned back to Dylan, but his seat was empty. Rolling down the window, he hastily cried to Dylan.

'Don't cross Tenpenny man, he's dangerous!'

But Dylan didn't listen, the whole episode had just confirmed that Tenpenny needed to be exposed… and destroyed.

**A/N Thanks very much for reading, review!**


	5. Goodbye Los Santos

**A/N Thanks to reviewers!**

People were to busy to notice the young man standing stock still, gazing intently at the door of Frank Tenpenny's office. Those who did acknowledge his presence didn't want to disturb the complete, concentrated silence he was in, though he didn't look much of a threat.

Dylan wasn't to sure what he was going to do, it all seemed so simple when he had left Cesar's car, but now, standing in front of his office it was much harder than he ever expected. Though the anger that he had been lied to, a pawn in the twisted game they played made him turn the brass handle. His office was slightly bigger than the others, a brown desk took up most of the room and various cabinets and newspaper cuttings plastered the walls. Tenpenny wasn't alone. A fairly tall man, with quite long sandy coloured curly hair, stood with his back to Dylan. He was dressed in dark grey worn jeans, and a dark blue zippy-up jacket, Tenpenny straightened in his large leather chair from his slouched position and cleared his throat.

'Thank you Adrian that's all we'll be discussing today,' he said in a professional manner, the supposed Adrian turned to face Dylan and nodded. He had a stern expression on his roguish rigid face and his blue eyes to puncture through Dylan's anguished character, he was probably only a few years older than Dylan but the unshaven jaw, and out-of-place scar that lined his temple contradicted this judgement. At first Dylan thought that Adrian had aggressively, accidentally walked into him, but as he apologised the man shoved what felt like a crinkled, cracked, dollar bill into Dylan's splayed hands, automatically Dylan shoved the paper into his jean pocket.

'Where the hell have you been Garnier? I've been ringing your cell all day!' Tenpenny fumed. Dylan remained quite, just staring into Tenpenny's eyes, which seemed to flash suspicion at Dylan's silence, but he settled back into his rant.

'You think you can show up here in your civi's… explain yourself!' Dylan didn't say anything. 'What the hell is wrong with you?' he said slowly.  
'

I didn't believe it Tenpenny…your working undercover right?' said Dylan, Tenpenny seemed to freeze.

'Not another one,' muttered Tenpenny, slowly standing up and gathering himself. 'What ever you've seen Mr Garnier, you better forget it now,' he said menacingly, an icy tone that Dylan didn't want to explore further.

'You must be joking…' smiled Dylan, shaking his head.

'Oh, believe me I'm not,' he said quickly, pacing slowly towards Dylan, who kept still.

'The games up Frank, your going down…I reckon for life,' Dylan whispered the last part, Tenpenny was dangerously close to him now.

'People have tried before Dylan…' he pointed to a newspaper cutting, which bore the face of Ralph Pendlebury who had been shot only a few weeks ago, 'and failed…' he finished, smiling smugly. Dylan was taken aback suddenly, but regained his calmness.  
'

So who knocked him off, a whacked out Balla?' Tenpenny laughed.

'You'd be surprised, someone a little closer to home…'

'Who?' but Tenpenny didn't want to talk anymore, from nowhere a black baton appeared and swept into Dylan's stomach, delivering a blow that almost knocked him off his feet. He stumbled into the closed door, clutching his winded stomach, waiting for another collision, most likely to be to his head, but Tenpenny threw the baton to one side and grabbed Dylan by the collar of his white t-shirt, his eyes glinting fiercely, subtly smiling, and enjoying the power he had.

'Eddie!' yelled Tenpenny triumphantly 'The tables have turned Dilbert,' he whispered into Dylan's ear. Then, rather spectacularly the door that Dylan was pressed against, disappeared from behind, and both victim and villain fell through the doorway. Tenpenny's grip vanished, and Dylan rolled over his shoulder, a little manoeuvre he had learnt in training, his sneaks making contact with someone's chin. Leaping up back onto his feet, he quickly turned to the exit, swerving and dodging any human obstacles. He grinned when he heard the gutless tone of Pulaski.

'Uhhh…sorry…'

'You fucking idiot!' screamed Tenpenny. Dylan took three steps at a time and made a silent prayer, when he saw that his car (that he had parked in a disabled parking space) hadn't been towed away. Fumbling with his keys, he thrust metal into lock, and chucked himself into the vehicle. He was about to escape the carnage he had created in a cocktail of screeching rubber and groaning mechanics, when there was an urgent rap on the window, and another joined him in the car. A woman hastily sat down, slim, dressed in grey pants and a red strappy top, she was of Chinese ethnicity, black pigtails and her round soft face grew fierce at Dylan's disbelief.

'What the hell are you doing? DRIVE!' she yelled, her accent wasn't the gaudy Los Santos one that Dylan had grown accustomed to hearing, but a slicker and glossier tone. Dylan floored the pedal, still marvelling at her forwardness to invade his car without an explanation. They sped past the small square that gave the area its name 'Pershing' it held various structures and a small pool, where people were enjoying the afternoon sun. Not entirely sure where he was going, he took a right, heading down a main road in the direction of Verona Beach. Glancing quickly into his rear-view mirror, he saw no sign of police cars, not yet anyway. The white sands of the beach came into view and Dylan realised that number 1: he had to get out of Los Santos and number 2: he had to get out of his Oceanic. Narrowly missing a old yellow taxi they turned into the thoroughfare that lay directly parallel to the beach.

'What's your name?' he said breathlessly

'Katie,' she said, looking gleefully at the road stretched in front of them.

'Read this out to me,' he shoved his hand into his jean pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper that had been handed to him earlier. She took it and squinted at the messy handwriting.

'Angel Pine, 9 pm, Cluckin' Bell,' she recited. Dylan lost concentration for a second then snapping back into reality, turned the wheel sharply to dodge a truck, almost clipping a bare-chested roller skater. Katie laughed in delight, Dylan shot her a strange look.

'Where's that?' said Dylan, he had never heard of the place. Katie ignored him for a few moments, staring at him with a look of interest.

'Your on the run right?'

'Uhhh…' It had never really occurred to him that he was on the running from the law.

'Well there's one thing we have in common…' she muttered. Great, Dylan had a fugitive in his car. 'There's a bus that leaves for San Fierro in about…' she looked at her watch, 'ten minutes, it passes through Angel Pine, the bus stops just about 20 metres down the road.'

'Well that's just fucking excellent, maybe we'll reach the city limit before Tenpenny catches up with us!' Katie looked at him wearily, then outstretched her arms, and grabbed the steering wheel, turning it violently.

'What the-!' yelled Dylan, trying to tear her arms away from the wheel.

'Look, I can do this a helluva lot better than you!' she shrieked. They passed a pay n' spray, and entered into a small street. The beach lay stretched out to the left of them, with car parks and beach-huts lining it, to the right shops selling various souvenirs. Katie let go of the wheel, leaving Dylan scrambling for control, and pointed to a small car park.

'Dump this piece of crap in there, everyone does,' she said, Dylan frowned, though it was true, his Oceanic was on its last legs. He brought down his foot on the brakes before they hit an unawares tourist and swivelled into the car park. The car engine died and Dylan let out a huge sigh of relief, Katie just stared at him looking irritated and bored.

'Come _on_,' she said, Dylan just quickly scanned for his Rock Star jacket that he usually left in the back seat, seizing it and hastily putting it on, hoping that it would offer some sort of protection from the law. Saying a silent farewell, he left his car keys carefully placed on the front seat: it would be stolen with in the hour. He hurried after Katie, who gestured to a graffiti ridden structure.

'The bus stop is just beyond that bridge.' They passed a group of Ballas who wolf whistled as Katie jogged past them, they reached the stop, finally having a moment to rest.

'It should arrive in a few minutes,' she said surveying Dylan, who was on look out for any Police cars.

'Oh no!' whispered Katie, Dylan looked at where she was staring and his eyes widened in horror.

'Hide me!' she yelped.

He opened his mouth to retort, but they hadn't noticed the grey coach that the Police car was trailing behind. This time Katie sighed in relief as the coach stopped with a hiss, Dylan glanced nervously at the cop inside the car. It was Hernandez. Dylan didn't know if Hernandez had noticed him, he didn't stick around on the pavement long enough to find out. Sitting down with Katie on one of the rugged seats, he took one long, last look at Los Santos sprawled behind him, as they headed towards the bridge that separated the Island of Los Santos from San Fierro, wondering if he would ever return.  
**  
****A/N Thanks for reading, hit that review button!**


	6. Agreements

**A/N: Sorry about very slow update it's been a busy last few months, again many thanks to reviewers!**

Two hours later Dylan stepped off the coach into the small town of Angel Pine, raising a hand in a goodbye to Katie Zhan who was travelling all the way to San Fierro. Turning away from the departing bus he squinted through the heavy rain at the settlement set out before him. 'Cluckin' bell, 9.00pm' the note had stated, it certainly wasn't hard to find. At the end of the street he could make out the yellow glowing lights and odd bell-like-chicken bulk protruding from the roof of the restaurant. He passed a few home businesses and loutish drunks, then realising that the soaking clothes he was wearing was all he had, he broke into a jog and reached the intended target. His hand hovered over the handle, wondering if it was better to run, but this was his only lead… he had to see it through. He entered instantly looking for signs of any threat, but only two ridiculously dressed cashiers, a long bearded hick tucking into a burger and a figure in the furthest corner of the restaurant drinking from a plastic cup. Dylan eyed the strangely dressed figure in the corner, a purple jogging suit with fluorescent yellow lighting strips down the sides made him appear to be a man who wanted to be noticed, but not given a second thought. Even though the clothes were… different and the messy Caesar cut had been done in a hurry this was the man Dylan was looking for even if the fashion had changed the rigid face hadn't.

'Look, d'you want anything?' asked a chicken dressed adolescent from the counter. Dylan shook his head, realising that he must of looked strange standing still looking grave and suspicious. He walked cautiously to the far corner, the man looked up and glared at Dylan's raised eyebrows and developing smile.

'I'm tryin' to look inconspicuous O.K?'

'Right…' nodded Dylan, planting himself on the seat opposite.

'Glad you came,' he said, sounding as ungrateful as possible. 'It's a shame this place ain't empty.' He nodded to the bearded guy now guzzling a Sprunk a few seats away from them. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, ignoring the fading no-smoking signs stuck unconvincingly on the grimy walls. He glanced up at Dylan, his blue eyes quizzical.

'Quite lookin' at me all suspicious…I want the same thing as you do.' He had a southern accent, deep and grumbling, he barely moved his lips as he spoke and Dylan had to listen extremely hard to hear what he was saying.

'How would you know what I want?' said Dylan, deciding not to let his suspicious front down.

'I know people,' he replied simply, not wanting to give away to much. 'That scene you caused earlier today made people to talk,' His eyes surveyed the restaurant flicking from the cashiers to the other customers wearily and then settled his gaze back on Dylan.

'Look let's keep this short, we don't know how far behind Tenpenny is.' He drained his coffee and sighed. 'Ralph Pendlebury stepped into my office 2 weeks ago, begging for help and pissed as hell, mumblin' something about Frank and drugs… thinking that he was just on a drunken rant I told him to go home ,sort himself out,' he paused gazing at the empty coffee cup woefully. 'Then right on cue, Pendlebury was shot in a 'gang related' incident , usually I don't think twice about these things, there's been more gang related incidents in Los Santos than you've had hot fricken dinners but… the whole thing was out of place so I investigated-'

'And he was right, Tenpenny was into the drugs ring,' Dylan finished.

'I'm tellin' the story mate!' He took a deep drag from his cigarette.

'Sorr-'

'Anyway, what you said, Tenpenny has been selling drugs to the to Vietnamese gangs in San Fierro for months. The Ballas and him have an agreement, we keep the heat off your asses, help you out with drug shipments, tweak a few court cases and you give us a nice round percentage of your profit and everythin' is tickety boo.' He finished, waiting for a response from Dylan. It made perfect sense, the scene at the docks, the whole nasty business with the Green Sabre, there was just one thing…

'Know a guy called B-Dup?' asked Dylan, Adrian nodded.

'Mark Wayne grows Cannabis, Ballas main source, got shot the other day, loads of blood… you didn't shoot him did you?' A smile played around Adrian's' lips.

'No, but Tenpenny did,' replied Dylan grimly.

'That would explain a lot…B-Dup has a strict policy with the Ballas, he can only supply to them'

'Why?'

'Don't know, this isn't really my area of work, but presumably B-Dup started dealing out on the streets and Tenpenny was obligated to sort him out,' he said staring out of the window, scratching the scar on his temple absent mindedly.

'What is your area of work then?'

'Hmm? I'm …I was undercover, not so much narcotics, just gang operations, when I handed you that note I was telling Tenpenny that he would have to find some one to replace me and he'd better watch out…probably what you were about to do.'

'More or less'

'Well now we've sorted that out…' he cracked his knuckles, 'I'm gonna tell you what I plan to do about it' He lowered his guff voice to a whisper. 'I'm meeting a journalist for the San Andreas Today in 2 weeks, getting media attention is the first plan, from there I don't know what'll happen, hopefully a loada people will get pissed and it will resolve in a court case. In the meantime lie low in San Fierro.' He reached into his pocket and drew out another piece of crumpled paper.

'Stay with this guy, he's completely high most of the time but he doesn't ask to many questions, get a job who knows how long you'll be sticking around,' he said.

'Hippy shopper, second floor, Queens,' murmured Dylan, looking at Adrian worriedly. Adrian laughed.

'Flowers, doves and peace signs left right and centre, don't worry you'll get used to it,' he sniggered stubbing out his cigarette on the table.

'I'll be safe right? I mean there ain't gonna be any wanted posters with my face on it,' asked Dylan apprehensively.

'No no, it's not Tenpenny's style San Fierro and Los Santos don't like each other anyway, there not about to do any favours for each other.' He stood up donning a Rimmers jacket.

'Could you give me a lift?' asked Dylan hopefully.

'I would but if I start the ignition and the car blows up, that journalist is gonna be standing by himself for a half hour,' he said bluntly. Dylan nodded, he understood why he had been told all this. It was a two man job. They briefly shook hands and went there separate ways, Dylan heading to the squat bus stop and Adrian to a white Picador truck.

Pulaski watched them leave the restaurant and smiled from under his fake beard. Tenpenny was going to love this.

Dylan stared blankly through the rain. Wondering what Tenpenny was doing now. Was he sweating it out in his office? Afraid that he would be facing jail bars in the morning. He doubted it, probably cooped up in the country smoking a bong and devising new ways to screw Dylan's life up. A bleeping noise interrupted his silence. He jumped reaching to his left breast pocket, then laughing at his own stupidity, he reached to his right pocket and pulled out his cellphone, he didn't recognise the number.

'Hello…Bob's Pizzeria,' said Dylan uncertainly, better to be safe than sorry.

'Ahhh crap, I'm gonna kill Pablo,' said a familiar voice.

'Wait wait Cesar, it's Dylan!'

'Que! I thought… '

'Don't worry, It's me, how'd you get my number?'

'Idiota, it doesn't matter homes,' he muttered, 'Still alive then?'

'Just… what's going on with you?'

'I'm in San Fierro, things have got real messed up, I'm waitin' for CJ'

'How's he then?' Dylan didn't really care.

'Not good homes, his brother's locked up, Tenpenny's on his ass, but anyway homes… I'm just warning you Tenpenny is gonna be in San Fierro him and Carl…well it's complicated, hopefully we'll be in charge of a garage in Doherty real soon just… don't come by it's to risky you may find Carl tailing you, he has to do whatever Tenpenny tell him…it's not good.'

'Thanks for giving me the heads up man'

'I never had this conversation with you homes.' He hung up. Great, Carl Johnson was Tenpenny's bitch, he had to be extra careful. The bus lights appeared through the thick darkness, finally Dylan might be able to catch some sleep…


	7. Running man

Dylan awoke to familiar surroundings, four white walls, a white wardrobe and white curtains. He expected that having a landlord as a hippie might of meant that the room was a bit more colourful, obviously not. He sighed as his alarm clock rang out, he couldn't remember the days when he didn't wake up before it did. Work began at 10:30 opposed to the 7:30 he had to endure for C.R.A.S.H. He stretched lazily and reluctantly got out of bed to shower. Emerging from the bathroom, dressed in black jeans, a grubby red polo shirt and red baseball cap which was starting to give off a questionable smell. Trying to ignore the odour he glanced groggily at the tasteful cat calendar, it had been exactly 2 weeks since he had arrived in San Fierro, exhausted and aching. It didn't help when he had got off at the wrong bus stop meaning he had to navigate through the misty streets of the city in the middle of the night. At 15 dollars a week he was provided a room and all facilities that the house had to offer, plus food and clothing meant that Dylan had to get a job.

Malcolm Goldlinger had a small shop selling a variety of stock it was certainly colourful.

'Dilbert! Morning my man morning,' said the cheery voice of Malcolm popping up from under the counter with a variety of tie dyed t-shirts in his nicotine stained hands.

'Sobre this morning Malcolm?' said Dylan wearily, he had to open the shop twice this week as the old hippie had decided that a night full of drinking and drugs would solve all his financial problems. A yellow smile broke from under his grey bushy beard.

'Who would want be hung-over on a day like this my friend?'

'Yeah, yeah…' grumbled Dylan, taking a door to his right leading into a small grey garage occupied by a green rusty Walton and a red and yellow moped, which Malcolm had fondly named 'Bertha', bearing the words: '_Pizza Stack, Yes we deliver on 069666_'. This was one of the bright sides of Dylan's Pizza Boy job. He got to ride a moped.

Just as he was turning the key to start the noisy, buzzing engine his cell phone went off.

'Adrian,' grunted Dylan.

'One o' clock outside City Hall, hope you haven't forgotten,' replied Adrian.

How could he forget the day where his future may actually be secured?

'I'll take that as a yes then, stay in that crappy uniform of yours and bring that buzzing bike, you might need a quick getaway'

'Bertha…quick ?' mused Dylan.

'What?'

'Nevermind…'

'Carl,' cooed Tenpenny tauntingly stepping quietly into the large garage. He observed the room with a gleeful smile on his face. Desks holding various toolboxes and shelves crammed with car books, a gleaming Cheetah dominated the room.

'Oh man…' muttered someone. Carl appeared in a doorway, his face more frustrated than angry.

'Nice place Carl,' said Tenpenny, pacing slowly around the room.

'Stop bullshittin' me Tenpenny, what the fuck do you want?'

'Maybe I just came round for a social visit,' he paused and laughed, 'nah who am I kidding I got a job for you.'

Carl didn't even bother arguing, he had been through this routine a thousand times already.

'There's a meeting today at one o' clock, an old colleague is trying to sell us out to a greedy reporter,' he said, bored.

'I got stick some lead in both their heads,' replied Carl casually.

'Why yes Carl, I think I'm getting a bit predictable for you,' he leered.

'Where?'

'City Hall, I hid a sniper rifle in a Frog Bin,' he replied tapping the sports car thoughtfully. He turned to leave.

'Oh and if you see some shaggy haired guy dressed in a Pizza Stack uniform, shoot him as well'

Carl watched him leave, and shook his head.

Dylan delivered, what he hoped was his last pizza and accelerated down the drive of the bungalow, turned into the main road, heading towards the building in the distance. 5 minutes later he turned into the road that surrounded the terracotta coloured square. He eyed a bench with a clear view of the entire layout and pulled up beside it and nervously sat down, he still had ten minutes… There were about four people, including the hot dog vendor, sat down in the square all enjoying there lunch break, the actual City Hall was huge, white marble gleamed in the afternoon sun and workers continuously flowed in and out. The square itself was shaped in a thick cross, paved with terracotta tiles and small green bushes lined the outside. A very abstract structure of tall straw coloured building bricks made up the centre of the cross . Dylan swallowed nervously when a man in a olive plaid shirt and blue jeans with a messenger bag slung walked towards him.

'Hey are you Adrian Barker?' he said, a tint of a Mexican accent creeping into his voice. Dylan opened his mouth, but he saw Adrian strolling up towards them.

'No, I am,' he said, the reporter turned and shook hands.

'Lets take a walk then Mr Barker'

'Of course,' replied Adrian cheerfully, the pair turned and dived into a deep, quiet conversation. Dylan double checked that the Deagle was still there in his jacket pocket, his fingers brushed the steel , but it didn't make him feel any better. Five minutes passed slowly and tediously . 10 minutes …20 minutes they shook hands, Dylan didn't dare relax. BANGHe threw himself to the floor, his ears ringing. He watched in horror as the harmless reporter dropped to the floor in a bloody heap, dark rich liquid forming a small puddle around his head. Adrian turned to run but was cut down by hot lead shattering his skull forming a gaping puncture. People began screaming, birds flew upwards from a bush to his right. Dylan saw the legs of a running man. He leapt up ignoring the chaos around him, running at a fast pace fuelled solely by adrenalin. He had a clear view of a pair of combat trousers and a pulled up black hoody, the man was fast but Dylan was faster. He had been at San Fierro gym almost everyday so when the time came when he had to run like hell, he'd be ready for it. They crossed a traffic filled road, breaking their run only to leap over the odd car bonnet. Dylan was so close now he called rip the hoody off the killers head, air and sweat slapped his face as Dylan leapt forwards, the mans waist in his arms. They both crashed to the ground much to the bemusement of the civilians around. Dylan cried in pain as the back of a trainer slammed squarely into his chin, though Dylan scrambled up ready to run again, instead the furious, fierce face of Carl Johnson glared back at him. Taking his chances Dylan swiped a blow into Carl's jaw who stumbled back slightly and spat blood.

'Motherfucker,' said Carl simply, in an almost playful tone. Carl lunged forward, smacking Dylan to the ground, but instead of releasing a volley of punches, he ripped off Dylan's cap and his eyes widened.

'You!' he yelled. Then Dylan saw stars, as a brass knuckle duster connected with his jaw. He tried to scream in pain, but he couldn't move, he was paralysed in agony, his entire face writhing in torment. It wasn't over. Dylan's thumping heart felt cold steel cutting into his chest. Opening his eyes he could see Carl's menacing glare and his mouth muttering furiously, Dylan's Deagle in his hands. Carls face looked up and frowned.

'Stay away from me fool or I'll _have _to kill you' he spat, then breaking into a run from the red and blue sirens that were closing in on him.

Dylan lay helplessly, trying to keep his eyes open, but the screaming agony was to much. He saw nothing.


	8. Escape

**A/N Thanks ro reviewers!**

It felt like only seconds later when Dylan awoke, the hard ground now a lumpy mattress and the bustling street replaced by a quiet room. He tried to open his aching eyes, the intense light limiting his vision only to a blur, and raise his stiff fingers to the aid of his swollen face.

'I wouldn't touch that if I were you,' rang out a high voice from somewhere in the blur, his un-tuned senses unable to tell if it was a familiar tone. He lay in a limbo for another minute, trying to handle the mix of numbness and pain emitting from his face. As his vision came into focus he realised he was in a hospital ward, full of glum looking patients and visitors. He saw the owner of the voice, and attempted to smile.

'Police station, Hospital…where will we meet next?' said the beaming face of Katie Zhan now dressed in a nurse uniform.

Dylan tried to move his mouth to speak, but the joint screamed at him to stop.

'Urh,' was all he managed.

'Broken jaw Dylan, eating and talking will be a bitch for the next few weeks,' she paused, sounding if she was about to offer some encouragement. 'You lost a tooth aswell'

'Shit,' mumbled Dylan through gritted teeth.

'Look on the brightside…you made the paper,' she handed him a tabloid, he took it gingerly and cursed again.

** DOUBLE MURDER AT TOWN HALL**

**Yesterday afternoon at approximately 1.20 in front of City Hall two shots were fired resulting in the death of the famed reporter, Christian Romano and an ex-policeman Adrian Barker. Forensics revealed that the bullets belonged to a DMR sniper rifle and were fired from a range of 50 metres. Witnesses claim that a man, dressed in Urban Camo pants and a black hooded jacket fled from the scene but closely followed by a possible accomplice dressed in a Pizza Stack uniform, a fight ensued between the two resulting in the uniformed man knocked unconscious, he is currently being treated in Santa Flora hospital and awaiting police questioning. Documents were found detailing drug links inside a LAPD narcotics division, the seriousness of the allegations will be investigated in due course…**

'A possible accomplice, I was trying to catch the sonavabitch!' yelled Dylan angrily, regretting it instantly as pain surged across his face.

'The cops want a word with you,' said Katie woefully.

'You mean they want to arrest me,' mumbled Dylan. Katie sighed, and dropped her voice to a whisper.

'There arriving in 15 minutes, you've got time to get out,' murmured Katie, checking her fob watch, 'There's a toilet window on this floor leading out onto the roof, it easy to get down into the street.'

'I wonder how long until people notice there's a man running around the rooftops in a patient gown,' Dylan considered sarcastically.

'Don't get sarky with me, I was about to say a Mr Goldlinger came round with a change of clothes for you,' replied Katie vexingly.

'He didn't hit on you did he?'

'Yes'

'I'm sorry' Katie laughed and passed him a plastic bag, he opened it, fearing it was one of Malcom's charismatic outfits, it turned out to be a pair of jeans, black trainers, a plain white t-shirt and strangely enough a black bandana.

'Why the hell did he give me a do' rag? ' muttered Dylan, swinging his aching limbs out of the bed, and waited for Katie to check the ward and corridors for any lurking doctors. He saw himself in the bedside mirror, a grim face stared back at him, his brown hair now stuck out at all angles and he hadn't shaved in days, but the huge purple- red swelling spread across his cheekbone domineered the dogged appearance. The missing molar didn't help either.

'Damn, I look like a fugitive,' said Dylan aloud.

'You are a fugitive,' said Katie from behind him.

'How long will it take to heal,' he said, running a hand across the bruise, ignoring Katie's quip.

'Completely… 6 weeks, you're lucky it's a minor fracture or you'd be eating soup for months…here take these, they'll relieve the pain,' she handed him a plastic container.

'Thanks…where's this toilet then?' he asked.

'Take a left, walk down the corridor, there will be signs,' she said. Dylan glanced at all the other patients, none of them were paying any attention.

'I'll see you around then,' said Dylan turning away.

'Fire station next time huh?' she said smiling, watching him go.

He left the ward and walked slowly and casually, nobody gave him a second look as he entered the toilet. He saw the window, a gateway to some sort of distorted freedom. He emerged from a cubicle fully dressed, checked that he was still alone and hoisted himself up steadily onto the wide window ledge, his muscles stiff and slow. He quickly turned the window latch, listening out for any movement behind him. It opened outwards, and as Katie said, a flat, black roof 2 meters beneath him connected the two hospital skyscrapers. He shuffled himself into a better jumping position and threw himself down the gap landing neatly on his feet, the cold slapping wind caught him off guard and he stumbled over adding another bruise to his collection. Bringing himself up, he adopted a crouching posture, he was only two floors up and if a civilian strayed their eyes they would clearly make out a standing figure. He cautiously crept to a door leading out on to the roof. If that was a fire exit then there had to be a fire escape. He was right, rusty metal stairs zig- zagged to the ground below, smiling at his luck he descended the first step, then broke into a run.

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His face appeared in the newspaper the next day as a wanted man, but that seemed trivial to what else the papers were saying.

'Los Santos Police department found no truth in the allegations that the report claim…' repeated Dylan the fourth time to himself, Tenpenny's kept the investigators on the take alright thought Dylan angrily.

'Shit!'

What was he going to do now? He was fugitive in Los Santos _and_ San Fierro. Carl Johnson wants his blood. He could give himself up to the police, explain to them… no he would end up in a cell for the murders of Adrian Barker and Christian Romano, and Tenpenny would still walk free. Another reporter? No they would all be spooked.

There was one more option…hit Tenpenny directly. Though he had no idea where Tenpenny was…but Carl Johnson might…he probably hates the bastard. Dylan headed to his wardrobe and began packing a small bag. He donned the black bandana and a pair of shades, slung the bag over his shoulder and headed downstairs.

'Hey Dilbert your in the paper!' laughed Malcolm.

'See you Malcom,' said Dylan, shoving some green notes into his hands.

'Uhh…bye'

He exited through the garage and headed to the nearest tram station.

He got off the cramped vehicle outside a station and turned to face the tram, it sped away leaving Dylan staring at what looked like a deserted garage, he crossed the busy road and walked towards the open garage door.

'Hello?' gulped Dylan, he was bringing himself to the enemy, not in any sort of fighting condition and he wasn't even armed. None of it made sense. He jumped as a figure slid out from under a familiar red Lowrider.

'Yeah?' said Cesar, he got up and wiped his hands on a dirty cloth and looked at Dylan, no glimpse of recognition in his face, just a bored casual look. Dylan took off his shades and watched as the realisation seeped back into his features.

'Dylan, what the fuck are you doing here? What happened to your face?..._shit_ homes!' cried Cesar disbelievingly.

'Hey Ces-' Dylan began, but Cesar cut him off with more of his ramblings.

'I saw you in the papers…shit' he trailed off.

'Look…is Carl here?' said Dylan.

'Why the hell you lookin' for Carl?' said Cesar, frowning at Dylan wide-eyed

Realising that he wasn't going to get anywhere, he tried a different approach.

'Cesar for fucks sake, yeah everythin' is pretty screwed up…look what arrangement do Carl and Tenpenny have?' said Dylan. Cesar opened his mouth to argue, but he sighed heavily.

'I don't know much, but 'pparently Tenpenny framed him for murdering a pig, though they'd keep quite about it as long as Carl would do favours for them,' said Cesar wearily.

'Am I one of the favours then?' said Dylan.

'Fraid so, from what I've heard' replied Cesar.

'Why doesn't Carl take Tenpenny out?'

'Carl doesn't know where Tenpenny is, Tenpenny comes to him only for business and this can be any time,' said Cesar.

'Carl would if he could right?' said Dylan.

'For sure…' he frowned, 'what you thinkin'?'

'I don't know…' replied Dylan, shaking his head collapsing into a nearby chair. 'Look Cesar, I need to know where Carl is…he's my only link to finding Tenpenny,' he finished the rest was up to Cesar.

'Well…if you get your head blown off, it's not my fault homes!'

'Yeah whatever man,' Dylan laughed.

'He's set up some casino business with a Chinaman,' said Cesar, a tint of bitterness set in his tone.

'Las Venturas?'

'Si,'

'How much d'you reckon flights are?' said Dylan. Cesar thought for a moment.

'Well…I don't fly… more of a car man myself,' mused Cesar.

'No kidding'

'But I think your lookin' at ninety dollars,' he said.

'I can't afford that,' muttered Dylan.

'Woah…you in a lotta shit,' said Cesar unhelpfully.

'Thanks…well I'll see you around Cesar,' said Dylan.

'Good luck homes,' he replied turning back to his prize possession. Dylan's next goal was to find a good hitchhiking spot.


	9. Damn Peyote

**A/N Many thanks to reviewers! Subject to Change: Must have read my mind! I was planning to have a run in with the Gurning Chimps in this chapter...enjoy! The final chapter should be up in a few days. **

'Welcome to the Mothership my friend!'

Dylan glanced at the multicoloured Camper again, looked up at the shrivelled bearded face and attempted to smile.

'Your going to Las Venturas right?' said Dylan, planting himself on the front seat hoping that he'd say no. This was the only vehicle that had pulled up and it happened to be inhabited by a psychotic hippie and four drunken men.

'All in good time man all in good time…'

'Oi, Maccer, Twiggy, Terry we got some new beef,' said a distinctly English voice. Dylan turned to face the wasted scene. The owner of the voice had short brown hair and a bottle of beer in his hand. A few seats behind lay a younger man dressed in white jacket and sun hat with an upper lip and nose that had seen a lot of substance. He was sprawled on his back across three seats, Dylan averted his eyes as the man thrust a hand down his jeans. The two other guys were sat right at the back of the van, one was sporting a English soccer shirt and blue jeans, black hair poked out from under his NYY baseball cap. He had a gawky, skinny frame and one ear pierced. He was asleep snoring loudly much to the annoyance of the overweight blonde haired, baggy clothed guy sitting next to him.

'Ahh shut up Twiggy, y' twat,' he rumbled hitting the slumbering man with a rolled up Playboy magazine. Twiggy snorted, and woke, his hand reaching for his ear where found a used cigarette.

'Sod off Terry… I was 'avin this amazin' dream…' he stared dreamily out of the window.

'Eh..lads new meat!' he repeated, they all looked up this time, 'what's your name son?'

'Dylan'

'Names Kent Paul.… call me Paul, the one who's jerking off is Maccer, the fat lad is Terry and the one with the Scouser shirt is Twiggy,' he said, frowning at Maccer, 'Maccer for fucks sakes get ye' hand outta your trousers!' yelled Paul.

Maccer withdrew his hand and rolled off his seat.

'Oh bloody hell…' muttered Paul, lighting a cigarette and taking a swig from his beer.

'Where you guys from?'

'London,' said Paul.

'Salford…Manchester,' slurred Maccer proudly emerging from the floor.

'Liverpool,' cried a noise from the back.

'Who's the Yank Paulo?' drawled Maccer.

'I just said y' twat that's Dylan that is,' sighed Paul.

'Oi Mr Truth d'have any more booze?' shouted Terry from the back.

'_The _Truth!Yeah, it's under your chair,' said the ageing driver.

'Ahh nice one,' said Twiggy gleefully, 'Declan d'you want a beer?' he asked.

'It's Dylan you nunce!' cried Paul desperately.

'Yeah sure,' replied Dylan, a drink was what he really needed.

'So Dylan what brings you to these parts?' said The Truth.

'Uhhh…I,' stuttered Dylan, it probably wasn't the best idea to tell his revenge plans to a pack of strangers. Seconds Past.

'Ok Ok, who don't have to tell, by the look of your face it's probably something nasty, but one thing…is it against the system?' he said, almost pleadingly.

'Yeah…I guess so,' replied Dylan honestly, not sure if it was a good or a bad thing, a slap on the back answered his question.

'I knew it, you and me friend are gonna get along _just_ fine,' he said triumphantly.

'So…what are four Englishmen and a hippie doing in a Camper? asked Dylan.

'You'll see my friend, you'll see,' said The Truth.

'Oh for petes sakes, just tell 'em were goin' on a crack filled booze out!' yelled Terry.

'You can come if you like Declan!' cried Twiggy.

'Dylan!' shouted five frustrated filled voices.

'Whatever y'bastards,' said Twiggy moodily.

Angry silence filled the vehicle.

'We've been in this bloody thing for hours, we need a break, before we start throttling each other,' said Paul tiresomely. A hum of agreement emitted from the other occupants.

'No no, it's only another hour, anyway I think the system is on our tail,' mumbled The Truth, glancing nervously in the rear view mirror. Dylan tried to make the time pass as quickly as possible.

'Why are you lot in San Andreas?'

'Wee-ll,' began Terry cracking his knuckles, a grin on his face. 'Were…'

'Were a rap band,' interrupted Maccer boastfully.

'And I manage the bunch of sods,' muttered Paul out of the corner of his mouth.

'Gurning Chimps is what they call us,' said Maccer loftily. Dylan tried not to laugh.

'A rap band…from where…Salford?' said Dylan, half sniggering.

'Aye,' continued Maccer, unhindered by Dylan's chuckling, 'Oi…wait don't laf, o.k so we might not be Mr. Dre or whatever you Yanks listen to …an' we might not call each ova 'homies' but were big,' said Maccer spiritedly.

'Aye class…quality even,' agreed Terry.

'So 'ere we are in the States promoting our image,' belched Maccer, swaying slightly.

'And were celebrating with a first course of Peyote,' said The Truth.

'What the drug?' said Dylan.

'Yeah what else?' he replied.

'Then were goin' to find some birds and some tits,' said Maccer, he smiled mellowly, picturing the scene, he then keeled over.

'Yes! That's 5 quid for me Twigs,' jeered Terry, punching the air.

'Oh, I was sure 'e was gonna last the journey,' groaned Twiggy, handing over a few coins. Paul rolled his eyes and took a deep drag.

'Are you planning to do all this in Venturas then?' said Dylan.

'No way…were heading for a desert town,' replied The Truth, a glint in his eye.

'But your gonna get to Venturas right?' said Dylan desperately. Everyone looked at each other.

'Of course!' cried the Truth.

'Most likely…' said Paul.

'Maybe,' Twiggy sighed.

'Prob'ly not,' sniffed Terry. A grunt from Maccer put a full stop to the conversation. It was going to be a long hour.

'O.k so you sure your going to stay here?' said The Truth.

'Yeah, best if I stay sober for Venturas,' replied Dylan.

'Right, well I'll see you in the morning dude,' said The Truth.

'Well now that's settled lads, let's hit the town!' bellowed Paul, a drunken cheer erupted from the ranks.

'Nice meetin' you Dylan…summant tells me we ain't gonna meet again,' winked Paul. Dylan watched them stumble off into the town of Las Pasyadas. Dylan looked wondrously around the desert plains drenched in the evening light. _If I get out of this alive I'm going to live here, _thought Dylan, but for now he had to settle for The Mothership. They had parked on a grass verge just outside a medical centre, though Dylan didn't feel like retiring to the alcohol-sweat scented container yet. He wandered into the town, it was practically deserted and there was only one small bar, but the group had already disappeared from sound and sight. He inspected a Barbers shop, it was still open and he really needed a cut. He remerged sporting a buzz cut, and 40 dollars poorer. He ambled around for another ten minutes, and then decided to head back.

It only took him a few minutes to drop into a much needed sleep and managed to slumber for another 5 hours until a rapping on the door woke him. He grunted and groggily felt for the handle, it was the scraggy face of Twiggy.

'Ahhhhh! Who the hell are you?' Twiggy shrieked toppling over onto the sand.

'Oh man…it's me, Dylan, I just got a cut that's all,' said Dylan.

'Oh…right,' said Twiggy goofily, sagging. Dylan eyed the other lump on the ground.

'What happened to him?'

'He's just absolutely plastered,' said Twiggy.

'And the rest of them?'

'Well…I last saw Maccer with a bird talkin' about a snake farm,' he scratched his head. 'And Paulo was still dazed out after the Peyote Safari and wondered off after Maccer…ummm Mr. Truth…I think he said something about a Japanese bathhouse in Los Santos,' he said dazed.

'Shit,' muttered Dylan. He was going to have to find another way to Venturas.

'Y'know what?'

'What?' replied Dylan grumpily.

'I absolutely hate this band,' he said.

'Great,' said Dylan staring out into the distance.

'I'm gonna live out here in the desert, screw the lot of them I say'

'You do that'

'Yeah I should, c'mon Terry were outta here, thanks Declan'

'Dylan'

They sauntered off, leaving Dylan slumped against The Mothership. He would wait until morning before sticking out his thumb again.

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Dylan stood in front of the Four Dragons Casino. A trucker had given him a lift and after asking countless people if they knew of any new casinos, he had been given this location, he entered the rectangular entrance hall. It was quite, only a few desperate gamblers played the slot machines, though four security guards patrolled around the circular room, one in particular was guarding a grand wooden double door. That was the place to start. He walked over casually, concocting a plan to get him in, it was very dark in this part of the room no one would see him if he just…

'What d'you want?' said the deep voice of the bald bodyguard.

'Ummm…I'm here to…'

The bodyguard dropped to the floor clutching his face as Dylan delivered a smashing blow to his jaw, Dylan planted several kicks into his stomach, when he was sure the guard wasn't going to be walking in the next few minutes, he infiltrated the room. It was a medium seized rectangular room, kitted out in the best of oriental ornaments. To Dylan's delight and horror there stood Carl Johnson at the side of a black suited Chinese man, both hunched over some documents. He didn't have time to speak as he felt hands tightly grasp his shoulder.

'Who are you?' said a voice to his left. He watched the two at the desk glance up, the Chinese man's face remained expressionless but Carl frowned and walked over to him.

'Who is it Carl?' he said.

'Oh man…' muttered Carl 'It's you!'

'Who?' repeated the man.

'Don't fret Wu-zi,' a smile crept across Carl's face 'Shit, woah did I do that to your face?' The man named Wu-zi stood up and walked over to Dylan.

'Hello, I'm Wu-Zi-Mu,' he said politely.

'Uhh…Wu-Zi a little to your left,' said Carl carefully.

'Oh sorry,' he shuffled a few spaces across until he was facing Dylan, Dylan shook his outstretched hand.

'Hey…I'm Dylan,' he said uncertainly, it had been a minute and he wasn't dead.

'So Carl how do you know Dylan?' said Wu-zi

'What this buster? I don't know him, he just keeps poppin' up,' replied Carl. 'What the fuck d'you want?'

'I'm looking for Tenpenny,' said Dylan.

'Man I had almost forgot about that dickhead'

'You want him dead right?'

'Me? Half of Los Santos want him dead…but look I ain't seen him for a while, I don't know where the fuck he is and frankly I don't give a shit…now please fuck off,' said Carl gravely, Dylan knew he was defeated.

'Yeah well next time you see him, drop me a damn telegram, because I'll only be safe when that bastards dead,' said Dylan fiercely. He kicked the doors open, and quickly left the building before he was shot, his head in his hands he slumped against a wall. He had no options now, maybe it was finally time to leave…go home, back to Liberty. He brought his hands to his sides and gazed at the bustling street. And there in front of him was Jimmy Hernandez.


	10. Glock number ?

'Hernandez?' whispered Dylan, he felt like he'd seen a ghost. That was Hernandez alright, the small weasel like face and slicked back hair, nervous and jumpy as ever. He had his uniform on, but was wearing a pulled up grey hoody, he saw Dylan and hurried over to him.

'Don't come to close Jimmy, Pulaski and Tenpenny can't be far behind,' growled Dylan.

'Screw those bastards…I swear there not here,' he snarled.

'What the hell are you doin' here?'

'Let's go some place quiet alright?' he whimpered.

'I don't think so…here will be fine,' said Dylan.

'Ok ok…'

'So… what?'

'I…told LAPD about everything,' he whispered.

'You did…they listened?'

'Yeah yeah…but there not gonna give me any police protection, they said I have to stay with them, act like nothing has happened…there's gonna be a trial in a couple of weeks,' he said.

'Ok…so why you coming to me, d'you want witnesses or something?'

'No…were gonna kill Tenpenny and Pulaski!'

'What…. wait….we?'

'Yeah, look there gonna find out about what I did, then they'll kill me and they have plans to kill you _if_ we don't get them first!'

This was it, this was Dylan's chance, he didn't trust Hernandez in the slightest but he didn't want to sit around waiting for a trial…waiting to be killed.

'Ok, I've got questions though,' said Dylan, Hernandez nodded eagerly.

'Firstly…where is Tenpenny now?'

'There havin' a barbeque in Prickle Pine…I'm supposed to be out getting meat'

'O.k…what's you plan?'

'Well, a witness is meeting with a fed and exchanging a dossier with him, Tenpenny is telling Carl Johnson…' he looked at his watch, 'right about now, to kill the witness and get the dossier, then there planning to meet Carl in the desert, retrieve the dossier and kill Carl!' said Hernandez dramatically, he wasn't finished though. 'And then, that's when we'll strike!'

'Woah…woah shouldn't we warn Carl?'

'No no…it'll mess everything up…Carl will be fine…though I don't now why your worrying about that bastard,' he said forcefully.

'Ok…so when is this meeting taking place?'

'Meet me tomorrow at seven pm at El Castillo Del Diablo…there's a ghost town , I'll meet you under a stone bridge type thing…you'll see it and take this,' he thrust a Glock 29 into Dylan's hands.

'Hey wait wait…how did you know where to find me?'

'Tenpenny's been tailing you ever since you left Los Santos,' he replied, turning back to the sloppily parked police car and speeding off as fast as he could.

'Whoa,' muttered Dylan, he found it hard to believe the scene he had just completed. He pushed thoughts of home back into the recesses of his mind.

Dylan spent the night on a secluded bench, not sleeping much, wondering what he'd do as soon as all this was done. He'd have to ring his Dad, get him to wire him some money for a flight home then devise a story to why his career didn't work out, but most of all he could never return to San Andreas again.

He spent the day wondering around Las Venturas, he had never been anywhere like it and he would be disappointed to leave. He managed to win thirty dollars playing blackjack in the 'Caligulas Casino' which he spent on a bus fare to Las Pasaydas, where he had a fairly nasty dinner and drink at a grizzly diner. He headed to the huge brown hill, which was connected to a smaller twin one by a nature made bridge, this must be the place. He could make out the small 'Ghost town' in the deteriorating light, a tiny deserted settlement made up of small wooden shacks, he couldn't make out any figures in the evening glow but they must have been down there. He heard the shifting of sand under feet and turned round, it was Jimmy, as nervous looking as ever, he didn't say anything just beckoned to Dylan to follow him, they crouched low and made there way down the sloping path. Dylan could hear voices but couldn't see the owners, they were getting louder and louder and Dylan caught a glimpse of Tenpenny. Hernandez carefully led him through the shacks until finally they settled behind a small wooden building. Dylan could see the backs of the two soon to be ex-cops and Carl as he handed over the much wanted dossier.

'Ha, I bet you were. That the dossier? Hand it over,' said Pulaski coolly.

'Hey everything cool now?' said Carl passing the documents over.

'I don't know Carl. Eddie?' Tenpenny's voice sliced the air like a knife through butter.

'Our boys done good,' replied Pulaski, though he wasn't talking about Carl

'Wonderful, now that's sorted out…Hernandez you can come out now!' said Tenpenny softly. Dylan was about to look over at Hernandez for some sort of explanation, but Hernandez was obediently walking over to the trio. Dylan had been tricked.

'Dylan…you can come out as well…don't even try running away,' said Tenpenny, Dylan stood stock still, though jumped violently as three shots were fired into the air.

'Now now Eddie, we don't want to attract to much attention…oh for fucks sakes I'm getting bored come out Dylan'

Dylan, this time abided, he walked very slowly with his hands up towards Tenpenny.

'That's better,' drawled Pulaski approaching Dylan, searching him and pulling out the Glock.

'And for you Hernandez…not even getting Dylan for us is gonna save you now,' said Tenpenny dangerously. Hernandez eyes widened in horror as Pulaski fired three bullets into his chest, he hit the ground, blood dripping out of his mouth leaking onto the sand below, Dylan grimaced as he realised the bullets had punctured his lungs leaving him to slow painful death, though fortunately Tenpenny finished him off with a few well placed kicks.

'YOU SNITCH PIECE OF SHIT! YOU VATO ASSHOLE! YOU SOLD US OUT!' screamed Tenpenny kicking him furiously.

'And now for you Dylan…man it's been a while since I saw you…what happened to all your hair? That is one nasty bruise…did our Carl did that to you?' said Tenpenny, smiling mirthlessly. Dylan remained silent.

'Y'know Dylan I had a revelation last night'

'Do tell' said Dylan through gritted teeth.

'I was thinking 'now that Dylan fella looks real familiar, where have I seen those hazel eyes and angelic intentions before?' and then I remembered this pretty little thing in a club, now she was talking to me about how she had left home a mess hooked on drugs and alcohol. Leaving her older brother Mom and Dad… damn what was her name again?'

'Where are you goin' with this Tenpenny?' said Dylan.

'Oh yeah Rosie… Rosie Garnier that was it,' he grinned, a sick grin. Dylan froze, his heart skipped a beat.

'DON'T SAY HER FUCKIN' NAME YOU SONAVA BITCH!' spat Dylan furiously, his sole intent was killing Tenpenny, he was about to lurch forwards but was held back by Pulaski.

'Because that's why you came here isn't it Dyl? Not to fight crime heroically, but to find the bastards who beat your eighteen year old sister to death 'cos she couldn't pay her drug money…I think she had left for a quick fix when I slipped some Special K into her drink…'

Dylan shook with pure anger, his heart thumping and his veins throbbing…this was revenge now.

'Anyway… Eddie if you'd be so kind to place your gun against Dylan's head…now Dylan take this gun…if you even think about pullin' a fast one you'll be staring at your remains from hell…yes now aim the gun at Carl…I wouldn't run Carl because if you run then Dylan will be shot shortly followed by you…there perfect,' said Tenpenny happily.

'You see if you do us the favour of shooting Carl here, then you can go free…but if not then… both of you are dead…you've only got one bullet Dylan,' said Tenpenny. Dylan stared at Carl who remained cool as if he knew he'd be walking out of this alive, Pulaski had the gun pressed against his head so hard it cut lines into his temple…Dylan's arms shook.

'Oh fuck this I'm outta here,' cried Tenpenny walking to the police car.

'W-where you going?' said Pulaski nervously.

'To get drunk and laid of course!' he laughed back. Six pairs of eyes watched him go.

'Right I'm gonna count down from ten, and if you don't shoot the bastard then your both dead,' said Pulaski, savouring the power he had.

'10'

Sweat trickled down Dylan's forehead.

'9'

He could just shoot Carl…but he couldn't trust Pulaski to spare his life.

'8'

'7'

He might be able to punch Pulaski from here…no he'd be dead in an instant.

'6'

'5'

It's unlikely he would survive even if Pulaski didn't kill him, people would find out that was Dylan then all of Carl's friends and family would be after him.

'4'

What was the gun that Pulaski had?

'3'

Three in the air…three in Hernandez's chest

'2'

Sweat dripped off Dylan's nose

'1'

The gun clicked pathetically, Pulaski stared open mouthed at the device, Dylan wasted no time. His fist hit Pulaski's chin with a splitting crack, a blow glanced off his temple. The cop tried to run, but a kick in the back of the leg sent him blundering into the ground. Dylan towered over the fallen figure and aimed his gun.

'Glock 39, only six rounds…' wheezed Dylan. He fired, the lead penetrated Pulaski's huge gut.

'Dickhead,' muttered Dylan, slumping to the floor.

'_Damn,_' said Carl from behind him, 'hell… I thought that was the end…thanks man…and look I'm sorry 'bout your sister…I mean if that had happened to Kendl I'd have ripped Tenpenny's throat out by now,' he said solemnly, he ambled over to the corpse.

'Shit, where'd this punk get all this paper from?'

'Robbing corpses…nice,' murmured Dylan

'He don't need it no more!' retorted Carl, 'five hundred bucks will shut you up,' he said, passing over a mass of green notes. He frowned at Dylan's unsatisfied pained face.

'Hey look I'll give you lift to Los Santos, that's were Tenpenny's trial is happenin' you can testify against the bastard, he's got no excuses now man, he's going down…for sure.'


	11. CRASH

**A/N Well this is it... many thanks to qwerty, Prophit, Subject to Change, A.O Drak and BADFELLAS INC. Hope you enjoy**

'Well…here it is, good luck,' said Carl.

'Thanks…I'll see you around'

He looked up at the huge headquarters and took a deep breath, it would have probably been a good idea to stop off at his apartment, he still had it for one more week, to shower and change into some fresh clothes…he just had to get it over with. He should be safe here, there was no reason why he should be arrested unless they had been in touch with SFPD recently. He entered, nervous. It was still the same place, a hive of activity, even on a Sunday morning. Nobody paid him any attention or even recognised him, he wasn't surprised though, he had only been here once or twice. He walked over to the front desk a woman glanced up at him.

'Hey can I talk to somebody about standing witness at Frank Tenpenny's trial?'

'Wait one moment please,' she tottered off, returning with a bulky balding man, dressed in a tweed suit that was so small for his bulging frame.

'Hello there, Bill West,' he said jovially, his hand outstretched.

'Dylan Garnier,' replied Dylan politely, shaking a podgy hand. Bill's face didn't even flinch.

'The thing is Mr Garnier, I'm sorry to say that Mr Tenpenny's trial if full to the brim of angry witnesses, seems that Tenpenny pissed off everyone in a one-hundred mile radius,' he said brusquely.

'He raped my sister'

'Oh…well,' said Bill humbly, fiddling with his tie, 'I'm sorry to hear that….certainly changes things quite considerably…please come this way' Dylan was led into a small office and ushered into a chair.

'So...Dylan Garnier was it?' Dylan nodded and watched Bill scribble on a sheet of paper.

'Would your sister be able to come and speak to us?'

'No…she passed away two years ago'

'Oh…I- I'm sorry to hear that…it'll be hard to prove anything without the victim to be frank Mr Garnier'

'That's not all…I worked for CRASH saw things, heard things…I left and Tenpenny's been trying to kill me since,' said Dylan bluntly. The smile returned to Bill's face and he rubbed his hands.

'Well Mr Garnier we may have something here…so how long ago was this? I certainly heard nothing about…' he said confidently. The interview carried on for another hour, Dylan tirelessly told his story, as Bill listened intently asking him all sorts of questions, making him repeat all the tiny details again and again.

'Ok ok you can go now…I just have to cover every angle… its tough in court Dylan…no joke at all but hopefully the bastard will be going down, I'll just clear all this with the courts…Thursday 2.00 o'clock, Conference Centre you'll get the details in the post,' he said, looking at Dylan up and down '…look smart,' he muttered, shaking Dylan's hand a final time. Dylan left the building…feeling worse and dreading the future even more. He kicked a can and walked aimlessly along the street, he wondered into Rodeo and found himself staring in the shop window of a Victim, he bought a 300 dollar suit and caught a bus back to East Beach where he found his apartment, peaceful and untouched. He flicked a light on and looked nostalgically around the room, but his night wasn't over yet. Dylan reached for his pocket and pulled out his gun and aimed it straight in front of him.

'Honestly Dylan there's no need for guns,' the man leered.

'You should be behind bars,' replied Dylan, not lowering his gun even a millimetre.

'Jesus Christ Dylan…ever heard of a thing called bail? Anyway I still have a lot of influence in this God for saken city,' he said inspecting a nail thoughtfully.

'Talking the Christian talk alot Tenpenny…afraid you'll be joining Pulaski?' said Dylan.

Tenpenny chuckled.

'I didn't think you had it in you to kill a man, ice cold killer in the making huh Dylan?'

'I'm gonna have the time of my life when your getting death threats in the cells'

'I'm not going down…their evidence is a joke,' laughed Tenpenny.

'Keep sayin' that and it might happen…even if by some miracle you do survive the courts, half of Los Santos will be hunting for you blood'

'Oh that's the least of my worries, I've already booked the 830 to Hawaii, though first I have to pick up some drug money in East L.S,' he grinned.

'Your wasting your money…now get out'

'Fine fine…I was just making a social call don't have to get all snappy,' said Tepenny, calmly passing Dylan who kept his gun pointed.

'See you in court Frank'

'Toodles'

Dylan waited until he heard the footsteps die away and then slumped onto the sofa, breathing heavily.

The next four days passed quickly, Dylan rang his family found a few odd jobs to do, made some money. It had felt almost normal, but here he was sitting down in the court room, his heart thumping, palms sweating and mouth dry, waiting for the judge's verdict. It had gone well on the whole, Dylan had told his story and been pounded with questions but had answered them confidently but Tenpenny stood in his thousand dollar suit smiling the same sneering grin.

The judge cleared her throat, Dylan's stomach leapt.

'Due to lack of evidence the jury finds the defendant…not guilty, and has seen fit to drop all charges'

Dylan choked, he froze as the rest of the witnesses began yelling, but Dylan stayed silent and still as Tenpenny winked at him and exited the room. Dylan attempted to follow him but was met by a frenzy of reporters, camera men and furious people. He heard the words of one woman:

'Los Santos will burn tonight!'

Dylan elbowed his way out, his hand straying to his jacket pocket, but it was to late Tenpenny had hurried to a blacked out car was speeding off.

'FUCK FUCK FUCK!' yelled Dylan punching the wall until it made his knuckles bleed, he was shaking now, shaking with anger, revenge, hatred…

'Excuse me sir…what happened in there?' said the reporter nervously. Dylan hit him so hard he heard the crunch of the poor mans nose as it felt the fury of Dylan's knuckles.

'Shit man!' screamed the reporter clutching his face. Dylan walked the streets solidly, for half an hour, through the developing crowds, he knew where Tenpenny was heading…East Los Santos he had said. It was probably a blood bath there, all the gangs would try and take advantage of other's territories why Los Santos rioted. He watched as a supposed civilian ripped a cop from his car and began beating him to a bloody pulp.

It was an hour's walk to East Los Santos from here, by the time Dylan reached it Tenpenny would be high in the air. The buses weren't running only a few cars flew by. Dylan had no choice. He eyed a man heading for his car.

'Give me the fuckin' keys!' yelled Dylan, the guy glanced nervously at the blood on Dylan's white shirt and dropped the keys to the Blista Compact and put his hands up. Dylan accelerated and sped through the empty roads at 80 Mph. He was just crossing the border between Idlewood and Ganton as bullets ripped into the side of his car, he ducked and skidded off the road crashing into a bush and an unfortunate elderly lady. He didn't have time to stop, the car was still drivable. He was almost there, though he could see smoke rising in the distance…he didn't know what to think. His cell phone rang, it was Cesar's number,

'What!'

'Dylan Dylan…it's Carl'

'What the fuck?'

'Tenpenny's escaped, he blew up the crack factory, he's headin' for the airport!'

'Where are you?' said Dylan doing a U-turn.

'I'm with Sweet, he was long gone when we got out of the building, you have to cut him off man…shit!'

Dylan threw the phone on the seat, and pushed the pedal even harder. He could make it in ten minutes. After a lifetime of weaving, dodging and speeding Dylan braked and scattered civilians as he parked his car on the pavement. He threw himself out of the car and grabbed a nearby old woman.

'You going to Hawaii?'

'As a matter of fact I-'

'Good, what terminal is it!'

'Well…let me just get the documents out,' she muttered, rummaging in her huge handbag.

'Terminal 4,' she said. Dylan sprinted through the crowds…this was Terminal 4 alright. He glanced around desperately.

'Where the fuck is he?' yelled Dylan out loud. Seconds ticked by and then he saw him. He was wearing a hat and shades but there was no mistaking that suit. He was about 10 metres away, a suitcase in one hand and what Dylan guessed was a bag of money in the other. Dylan walked slowly, his eyes fixated on Tenpenny. His hand reached for his pocket, drew out his gun and aimed. Several people screamed as Dylan walked oblivious to any airport security. Tenpenny turned and smiled when he saw Dylan, saw the gun and remained looking gleeful.

'Your not really gonna shoot me are you Dylan?' shouted Tenpenny. Dylan fired. The lead hit him in the chest and Tenpenny fell a look of surprise on his sharp features. Dylan crouched over the fallen figure and clasped his hands around Tenpenny's throat.

'Sonavabitch,' gasped Tenpenny trying to struggle. Dylan punched him hard, hoping to break his jaw as Tenpenny wheezed and choked for breath.

'Any last words Tenpenny?' said Dylan. Tenpenny managed a smile.

'Frank Tenpenny doesn't go anywhere unarmed,' he wheezed, Dylan ignored him and raised his arm for a finishing blow. A sharp, slicing pain in Dylan's stomach made him freeze in midair. Dylan glanced down at his shirt, a knife was protruding from the white material, blood was spreading like blotched ink. Foul tasting liquid trickled from his mouth down his cheek, he fell back staring wide-eyed up at the blue sky. People surrounded him, sirens rang out ….he heard running footsteps… his eyes closed…

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Bobby gulped nervously and rapped on the door. This was definitely what he wanted to do alright…though there had been a great deal of speculation if the special narcotics division would survive the past events, it had done so…with a new man at the helm and fresh new recruits. Bobby hoped he'd be one of them.

'Come in'

Bobby entered the room the bright square room, it was neat and tidy, the walls were bare but had been freshly painted. A man was at the desk, he had short black hair, hazel eyes and was dressed in a black police uniform. Bobby recognised him, he had been in the news _alot_ lately, for the right reasons though…kind of…if killing a man was a right reason…though the man was on the Los Santos's most hated list _and _was carrying a bag of drug money when he was killed. So it all balanced out in the end.

'Bobby Watson?'

'Yes sir,' he shook the outstretched hand nervously.

'Take a seat,' he said warmly, Bobby sat down. The man gave him an encouraging smile.

'So Bobby, why do you want to be part of crash?'

The End


End file.
